Letter to a Landlord:

Dearest Mister Andersen,

I am twenty-four years old, unmarried, and have recently moved into your city. I have been seeking for a permanent residence, as I currently live in the local YWCA Residency.

Having noticed your ‘Room for Rent’ sign in your window for quite some time, I finally write this letter to ask to live as atennant in your boarding home.

I promise to keep my room in wonderful condition, live long-term, and treat my fellow boarders with care and respect. My job at Jolly Joe’s, a dining establishment nearby your house, gives me a stable income to regularly pay for rent.

Enclosed in this letter are photocopies of my immigration identification and employment certificates. I hope you find them satisfactory.

Yours sincerely,
Morgana Le-Fay

Crowdrag Couriers - Prepaid Envelope

Date: 23rd Frabjous, 3278 AD (Anno Draconus)

To: Morgana Le-Fay,
Young Women’s Christian Association Residency, 776 Brillig Way,
Down-City, Dragon City, Goldenland

From: Hans C. Andersen
Morningstar Brownstone, 85 Skid Row
Down-City, Dragon City, Goldenland

Message: YES! YES! YES!

Come over anytime to pick up your keys. I will give you a tour of the house.

Andersen was an old man. His forehead was creased, the lines deepening with whatever expression he made. Wrinkles slanted like lightningbolts zapped the youth from the sides of his eyes. What little hair he had left was thin from years of hardship and graying at his temples. His mouth was thin with a permanent un-smile (which is something between not-smiling and looking unhappy). Just looking at his face told you life hadn’t been easy on him.

You’d expect a man like Andersen to be a horrible landlord.

But Morgana Le-Fay found him wonderful.

“And this,” he said, concluding the tour of his boarding house, “is your room.” He shoved a key into a lock, and tried to swing the door open. It opened halfway and stuck firmly in place. “Excuse me.” He looked embarrassed.

Sticking his head into the half-open doorway, he glanced around the room. Nothing was blocking the door; it must have simply been jammed.

All the grunting and pushing in the world could never have budged that door open. Perhaps an Olympic bodybuilder could. Unfortunately, Olympic bodybuilders were short at hand here.

“It’s okay,” the young woman said compromisingly. “I don’t mind.”

“Ah, uh – well, if you say so,” a mixture of relief and disappointed came upon his face. The first day in the boarding house and her door had to be stuck, what luck! He had to be grateful for this new tenant, she was half-a-saint for letting the matter slide.

Either that, or she really needed a home.

He watched her go into her new room, squeezing her bags into the crack in the door, then herself. She had the strangest hair he’d ever seen – yellow, a little like straw – most people in the city had greens, or blues, or even mixtures of reds, oranges and purples. Yellow was alien in Dragon city. What was the word for it again? Blonde?

Safely inside, the young woman surveyed the landscape. It was barely larger than a broom closet, with a mattress on the floor to serve as a bed. A chest of drawers that came up to her hip was the only other piece of furniture in the room.

She experimentally tested her weight on the mattress, a cockroach scuttled hurriedly out from under it, driven out of its home to search for a new abode.

“Better than the ‘Y’!” she cheerfully concluded under the light of a weak bulb. She could almost feel Andersen smiling on the other side of the door.

Shedding her bags off her shoulders, she watched thump against the floor. Free of her burden, she sunk luxuriously into her new bed.

Home, at last.